Corruption
by Rozak
Summary: When the winds of change blow slightly too hard in the way of the west, a dazed and confused prince finds himself washed on the desolate shores of the Shadow Isles, while an ageless priestess finally sets her eyes on her ultimate goal: immortality. [Rated M for violence.]


A clap of thunder rung out through the still air, clouds beginning to cluster above the dark, dead land of the Shadow Isles, where something was afoot. The still air was interrupted by the howling of the wind, the spirits that occupied the island becoming restless all of a sudden, the dark gods warning them of the coming storm. The waves on the ashen sand broke gently, making a barely audible sound as they did so. That was, until a single, massive wave broke just off the shore and washed up. In its wake remained a body, a shining mantle. Many of the spirits who looked on presumed this to just be another man come to be claimed by the Isles, but that was not the case.

Light broke through the clouds, a single, radiant ray shining down on the man, his eyes opening slowly only to be blinded by the ominous light that shone from the sky. He blinked, and came to slowly. The castaway sat up, looking out on the dark ocean, realizing just how far from his path he had been led.

He released a deep sigh, continuing to stare out on the ocean, the black sea engulfing his vision. However, he was stirred by the howling of the demonic inhabitants of the island that lurked just behind him. The whole island was awake to prepare for this man's arrival, it seemed, as he pushed his body up and turned to stare into the treeline. It was far, far too dark to get a headcount on the demons, but he could each pair of their gleaming eyes, staring him down from the safety of the treeline.

The castaway looked from side to side, down the beach, up it and back again. He could see nobody else that appeared to be alive. There was a dark figure that lurked to his left; a woman who was on her knees, weeping into the ocean, tears streaming down her ghastly visage like rivers, as if she'd filled the sea on her own. How dark, this place was, the man thought as he turned his sight back to the treeline. None of the demons moved. Some of them had even retreated deeper into the woods, snarling in protest as the man's very presence. This man had stepped through the gates of darkness and entered the realm of the dead, but he was not dead. It wouldn't be long until the creatures that inhabited the dark land smelled him out and purged this life from their land.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

Back in a cave covered in countless webs, the place where she first met the Spider, where she brought her first sacrifice, where she first tasted immortality, was Elise sitting on the ground, committed to a deep meditation. If one listened carefully enough, they could hear a silent song. It was wordless and ancient, it's sound disturbing the most primordial feelings a human being could posses. It was the spider song, the song of hunger. Or so it was commonly. Not this time. Today, if such a thing could be said about a place when even the light itself was slow and pale, the God was singing about a new soul claimed by the Isles.

It was not like the most puny mortals, washed on the shore, dying or dead already, only stepping through the gates of the other world if they were lucky. Most were not. There were beings waiting for them, creatures of darkness longing to devour or torture the souls even after their death. This was not the case. This one was powerful, strong enough to pass the nightmarish trials the island provided. Royal blood was running through his veins. Magic was bound to it. Old magic. Strange... beings were already gathering to drink the soul of the unlucky man, wishing to feed on his very essence. Sadly for them, they were not the only ones on the hunt. For a reason Elise did not understand, the great and all-knowing Vilemaw decided it wished to meet that man. That by itself would not be anything strange, but the deity did not wish to devour him. At least it did not seem so.

The priestess lifted herself from her seat, looked back over her shoulder to the Spider God who was already disappearing in the darkness again, and then abandoned her body, only to take a different one. A huge, menacing spider, colored in dark tones of red and black skittered across the ghost quarters, hiding in the heavy fogs flying around the Isles. Elise could feel her prey ahead of her, a sweet taste of immortality sneaking into her mind. Vilemaw will surely be pleased when she brings this man to it, and when she does, the secret of permanent immortality will be hers. And then, she will take all the world to a better place.

* * *

Back on the beach, the man washed ashore had began to investigate his surroundings further. The frequency of the thunder that shook his bones with each clap increased as time passed. He paced down the shore, analyzing the shore for anything that was familiar to him. However, he found nothing. Amidst the ashy shores, nothing could be found, or seen, that resembled the man or how he got here. In fact, he remembered nothing at all. Amnesia set it during his period of unconsciousness during his journey to the dead Isle, erasing most of what made him a person. His name, his past, all of it was unknown to him. What did stay, out of all that was lost, was his skill in combat and his knowledge of the animals he once hunted. Though, the animals that inhabited this land certainly weren't what he was used to.

A hundred paces down the beach was a beached ship. Nothing particularly important about it, but the castaway decided he would investigate it nonetheless. He approached cautiously, squinting and doing his best to filter our the faint shining of the sun above him, attempting to make out if anything occupied the ship at all. From four paces away, it appeared as if nothing occupied the battered, broken hull of the beached shit. The calm waves washed inside the construct, casting a timid echo. This seemed particularly unthreatening, so the unarmed, disoriented and exhausted man took the few paces required to enter the hull of the ship via a gaping hole in the side of the ship.

It was dark, a few stray, pale rays of light shining from the broken deck above him, but overall the ship appeared to have been stripped. Fitting and all; even some of the planks that protected the hull from the raging ocean waves. The man was unsure of what had brought the craft to it's grave on the desolate shore, and frankly wasn't going to trouble himself with it, as he began to sift through the wreckage, looking for anything of use. After tossing aside a few stray planks, he came across a chest, as well as the bloodied skeleton of what he could only assume was one of the ship's deckhands.

The man took a few steps forward, reaching a hand out to the skeleton, only to be stopped by some unknown force. A spirit emerged from the skeleton, a young man, who looked somewhat familiar to the man, mere fragments of his memory returning the longer he remained conscious. It was a ghost, he knew that for damned certain, but it gave the appearance of a person. Fully clothed, a long, rather curly beard and a Demacian navy officer's uniform. He began walking on the air, passing through Jarvan's body, grabbing invisible items from invisible tables. The ghost was replaying a scene for the man, a scene of how he died.

Multiple other spirits came to replay the scene as well; three other ones. All of them were garbed in an almost identical outfit to the one who rose from the skeleton, but all very distinct in their own ways. One of them had begun speaking, telling a rather jovial tale of his life back home in Demacia. Of the wife he loved and child she bore. The wife he loved and the child he left. The other two remained silent, releasing silent, eerie chuckles, not paying heed to the man's presence. The castaway made no fuss, merely staring in awe.

"Jofferey was quite a troublesome boy to deal with, sometimes I thought that my wife would have just given him away." The apparition declared, leaning back on what would have been a wall of the ship, though none of the below deck rooms remained in-tact, or inhabited by anything living. The other ghouls looked at the speaking fellow, mouthing a reply in the conversation before releasing a hearty chuckle, one that rang through the man's head, not his ears.

"Oi, don't talk about Alexei like that... you fellas are nothing but..." The apparition stopped speaking to close his mouth, peering up the grate that lead above deck. It seemed as if something was beginning to seep inside, though it remained invisible to the man observing the otherworldly display from within the sundered hull of the ship. "What is this? Fog? It's noon, why is there fog?" It further questioned, holding it's hands out and beginning to whisk fingers around within the invisible fog, but quickly stopped as he began to cough. "C-captain..." He stammered through the first word of what would have been a plead of help, but the captain, the skeleton visible on the ground, was already aware of what was happening. He held his breath for as long as he could, beginning to write quickly as the bodies of his comrades fell lifelessly behind him. The waves of the ocean could be heard crashing on the sides of the ship, starboard bow barely above the coughing of the dying deck hands above him. For as long as his breath held, he wrote into his log which sat just above a chest.

_To anyone who might have had the misfortune of surviving, I apologize. The Demacian naval incursion ship, bound for the Freljord, has drifted off course. We are bound for the forbidden lands where we will meet our fates. I apologize from the deepest pit of my heart to the men I have wronged, as well as the wife I now widow. My one duty was to lead you to the land of ice in one piece, but it seems I have failed, and now our souls will be trapped here for all eternity. Until the day the sun sets for the last time in Demacia, we shall remain in the black land. There is no time to explain. The shadows approach, they may take my brethren, but they shall not take me._

_Long live the king and Godspeed._

_- Captain Jeremias T. Livel_

The ghost captain finished writing, quickly shutting the journal, opening the chest and throwing both his rapier and the journal into it, the note being written on the very foremost page. The trunk was shut and latched shut as quickly as he could He drew his dagger from his utility belt, and for the first time, the captain spoke, and was heard by the living. "Long live the king, the prince, and Demacia." He declared in a hushed tone, raising the knife to his throat and claiming his life before the mist did.

The scene cleared with a strong gust a wind, blowing the captain's skeleton off the the chest he was slumped over. At his side, the knife that was used to claim his life. The man, slightly awestruck by the scene he had just laid his eyes upon, was still unsure of what he was to do. Something drew him to the chest that the captain's skeleton was draped over, and so, without a second though, he approached it. To his knees he fell in front of it, shoving the skeleton to the side and throwing the latches on the water-tight chest, beginning to lift it up slowly until he could easily see what was inside of it.

Contained within the chest was the captain's antique rapier, it's tempered steel blade inscribed with holy words, promising power and protecting to whoever wielded the masterfully crafted weapon. Beside that, was a bag of gold pieces. Nothing of particular importance, or use, but he took it anyway. Next to that were the only two items remaining that looked to be in-tact and not logged with water. The captain's journal; a ledger of their courses and happenings on-board the vessel, as well as the captain's note, and a crown. A golden crown encrusted with a single, grand jewel. His mind sparked at the sight of the crown, memories beginning to flood into his head as they returned in a great wave that threatened to overtake his fragile mind.

But it did not overtake him, the memories merely neatly settled in their rightful, proper places. And within a moment, the man blinked, and had a total recall. He was the man who bears this crown wherever he ventures. He was a prince; the prince of Demacia. Yes... Jarvan Lightbarrier... Lightlord? No, no. Lightshield, he was Jarvan Lightshield, the fourth of his name, crown prince to Demacia. Clarity had finally been reached, but he was still unsure of why he was here.

Jarvan took the relic rapier from the chest, fitting it to his belt and securing the sheath. After shaking it around for a moment to check if the knotting was enough, he took the pristine crown, slowly lowering it on his head until the ring sat perfectly on his head. The sky grew darker, the thunder clapped louder, lightning began to strike the beach and rain began to fall from the blackening clouds. The prince pushed himself from his feet, determination filling his body as he sought to find the reason for his being here. Painful, vicious hissing, growling and roaring could be heard from outside the ruins of the Demacian naval vessel, the demons that inhabited the Isle beginning to congregate around the awakened prince. Jarvan performed an about-face, taking a deep breath and preparing himself to face the horrors of the Shadow Isles, only to be confronted with the lithe, familiar figure of a woman he knew all too well.

"Hello, Jarvan." Elise's voice echoed through Jarvan's ears, her glowing crimson eyes staring him down the from the breach in the ship's hull.

* * *

New series because I was really excited about this idea and have been waiting for a while to do it. I'll go ahead and say this now, this ain't gonna be a very happy story. That's a promise. There will be blood. There will be more death than you could possibly imagine. And more over, there's gonna be sacrifices.


End file.
